A Lifetime for Four Months
by SwayPippin
Summary: ONESHOT: How long can you live with a secret? How long can you hold it in? Even in the darkest of times can we find love. HGOW


Disclaimer: The characters from Harry Potter are all property of J.K Rowling.

A Lifetime for Four Months

And there he stood, his scarlet robes billowing in the wind, honey brown hair tossed here and there, he was a sight. The stadium around him screamed his name, chanting so intoxicating he feared he may faint. This, the only medicine for the sickness he had, quickly revamped his whole body and quickly he mounted his broom, kicked off from the ground, and flew into the air before the other six of his team members. He was a keeper and a captain, one of seven players, and second most important player next to the seeker. Though his position wasn't held as high as seeker was, he regarded it with the utmost importance. Playing keeper was all that mattered.

The roar of the crowd filled his ears, even seventy-fife feet in the air. "WOOD! WOOD! WOOD!"

The end result of the game was, of course, his team had won, 350 to a mere 90. He'd done it again as keeper, well, with the help of his raven haired seeker. Congratulators swarmed around his seeker as his team touched down on the ground. It was he, the seeker, that had ended the game by catching the golden snitch awarding his team one-hundred-fifty points, and when that happened, keepers, beaters, chasers, none of them mattered.

Oliver Wood stood some ten feet away from the steadily growing crowd, gathering around his number one team mate, simply watching. He had never been one for words, unless he was speaking of his one passion, Quidditch. His hazel eyes scanned the crowd, he saw all of the usual faces, Neville, Ginny, Ron, Seamus, Dean, Luna, Parvarti, and then there she was. Hermione Granger, the bushy brown haired beauty. For several long minutes, he stood, mesmerized by her ever-blowing locks, caught up in the wind. Even with her hair lashing into her face and her cheeks an uncanny pinkish color, her beauty took his breath away.

Thinking his staring would soon be found out, he turned to walk down the hill dropping his head, back to the fitting room to change out of his sweat stained game robes and take a, much needed shower. He had taken only a few steps when the calling of his name caught his attention.

"Oliver! Oliver! Wait a minute!"

Turning back quickly, he saw her. A slight smile twitched at the corners of his mouth as he watched her run toward him. She was coming to him. She was coming to _him_.

Seconds turned to years as her petite figure neared him, years he would give anything to have.

"Oliver," she said panting, "I just wanted to say… You played a great game today." Her hand caressed his upper arm as she finished speaking. He knew though that this was only a friendly gesture, none the less, it boiled his blood. Every vein in his body seemed to erupt in flames with just a simple touch.

Clearing his throat from temporarily being rendered speechless, he said, "Thank you, Hermione, but I don't think I did much to help. I'm only a keeper; it's the seeker you want to be congratulating."

Even as she watched him speak to her, her hand did not leave his body. He was unsure at the time why she'd held onto him so long but wished she would never let go. Her hand steadily dropped down his arm while she spoke. "Oliver, we owe you just as much congratulations as we do the rest of the team. Without you, who would block the other teams' goals? Regardless of whom 'Quidditch through the Ages' names the most valuable player, you are the real champion." Her hand finally came to a rest just above his wrist as she stared into his endless hazel eyes.

Though her words were simple, she'd said a life times worth. Every syllable that crossed her lips was one he hoped never to forget. Her touch was so warm and soft, unlike anything he'd ever felt in his life. Again he smiled, but this time it was a real smile, "Thanks Hermione."

He turned, pulling his arm gently out of her hand, and began walking back down the hill, his head held high this time, when again she called after him. "Oliver, wait!"

This time, he only stopped; he didn't turn to see her face. He could hear in her words she had something to tell him, something he wasn't sure he wanted to hear. She quickly ambled toward him and placed one small hand in his palm. Turning his head toward her, his face said all he needed to.

"Oliver, please don't go." She said.

He laced his finger between hers and leaned down, very near her ear. He whispered. "I would never leave you." Then suddenly, he did something he never would have attempted had she not looked so saddened. He placed a soft kiss in the corner of her mouth. Breaking away from her, this time he hurriedly ran down the hill, into the team fitting room, closing the door behind him.

* * *

Two Years Later

* * *

Two years had passed since that first day. The first time he knew she'd noticed him. The days ticked by, taking a piece of him with them as they went. But he was okay with that because every night, she lay in his arms. She was his and no day was going to take that away from him. Through the years he'd tried to tell her the one secret he had left, tried many times. But every time he began the sentence her chocolate brown eyes stopped it, causing it to stick in his throat. Something had to be done, but even with use of magic, there are many things which can not be helped.

Four months. That's what the doctors had told him, he had four months. One-hundred-twenty-four days, two-thousand-nine-hundred-seventy-six hours, that was it.

By this time, he'd had to give up on Quidditch; he'd progressed too far to continue. Though she knew it pained him to have given up his passion, she never questioned him, not once. She worked during the day, in the Ministry, while he busied himself at their house. When night fell, she arrived home, and she loved him.

"Hermione," he said when she appeared in the grate of the fireplace.

"Oh, Oliver, yes, dear." She replied, brushing soot from her robes.

"Hermione, darling, come sit with me." The look in his eyes worried her. Never had she seen him look so distant, so hurt.

"Oliver, dear, what's the matter?"

He closed his eyes and turned his head away from her when he answered, "Please, just come sit with me."

Hermione did as he asked. She sat down beside him on their cream colored couch. Taking his hand in hers, she pushed it to her lips and left a lingering kiss. "Okay, Oliver."

He turned his head toward her and gave a weak smile. He couldn't tell her this, it wasn't the time. But he'd had six years, six, and never had he uttered a single word not to anyone. She was his best friend, his lover, his wife, his everything. "Hermione, there's something I've been keeping from you, and now is the time you need to find out."

Her face stiffened as she searched his eyes, looking for something, she could consider a clue as to what he was saying. She found nothing, nothing but that same distant look. "What is it, Oliver?"

He drew in a deep breath, trying to think of an easy way to say what he needed to say. Nothing he could think of was good enough; none of it would aid him in his task. "Darling, I love you, you know that, right?"

She nodded. Her face grew pale as she waited for him to continue.

"I've loved you since the very first time I laid eyes on you. You're so beautiful, smart and caring. So kind and wonderful, you're everything." He sighed.

"And I love you, Oliver, but what is this all about?" Her mind was racing. She expected him to tell her he didn't want to be with her any more. Or to tell her he had been stepping out on her. She expected all of these things, but none are what she got.

"Hermione, I'm dieing." He choked.

Her mouth fell open as her eyes widened and what little color that was left in her face vanished completely. "Wh—what? Oliver, no. No! You aren't! Don't say things like that!"

He pulled his hand from hers and grabbed her face in both of his hands. "Look at me, Hermione. Look at me! I'm dieing. For the past six years I've been living with brain cancer and I'd been doing better, but it's come back. Hermione, I don't have much time left and I know now that I should have told you, but I didn't want to lose you. I didn't want you to leave me because I was dieing. And they told me it was in remission, but they were wrong. Do you hear what I am saying to you?"

Her eyes glistened while he held her face in his hands. When she thought she could take no more, her first tear fell, sliding down her cheek and down the tip of his thumb back to his wrist. "How long? How long Oliver?"

Wiping the free flowing tears from her face he answered, "four months, they've told me I have four months."

His time with Hermione increased while his time on earth decreased. She'd taken a sabbatical from her job at the Ministry, for personal reasons, and elected to stay with him as long as she could. For the first month, they spent every waking moment in one another's arms, kissing, hugging, holding, making love, not wanting to lose one second. By the second month, his energy ran low and his health declined rapidly. Though she wore a face of happiness in his presence, it was only a façade to hide the anguish she felt within. By the middle of the third month, he had to be moved into St. Mugons hospital for witches and wizards, and was only going down hill. His muscles from all of those years of Quidditch had long been diminished, his weight steadily withered away until he weighed less than his wife. Even his face had changed. His eyes sank back into their sockets and his cheeks seemed to only be skin stretched across bone, nothing in between. It was only in his eyes that she could see him, only there was he the same person she'd fallen in love with.

Then on one stormy night, three months and twenty seven days after he'd told her his secret, his life failed him. For five hours he struggled, trying to hold on, for her, but his strength could not fight the inevitable. With his wife, and the one and only person he had ever loved by his side, on that stormy night, deep with in St. Mugons, Oliver Wood died.

Just before his last breath, Hermione gazed down upon him, tears in her eyes and whispered, "Oliver, its okay. I'm going to be just fine. Go now, you. I love you, but know this. I will go on living in your memory because, Oliver, I am to have your child."

When his last breath left his body and the healers told his wife he was gone, she said, "four months, Oliver, they tell me I have four months."

A/N: This was my first Oliver/Hermione fic and I would love to hear what you all thought about it. Reviews always welcome! Sway


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